


Threads

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, Story within a Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shop is run by an elderly gentleman, a quiet man who always remembered her name. She supposed that it could be chalked up to her fame, but… there was something in the way his eyes gleamed. He appreciated people who loved books. And Cassandra truly loved books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [picchar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/picchar/gifts).



She is not quite sure what brought her to the little bookshop in the southern quarter of Val Royeaux – the luxury of having free time had left her quite aimless, and she had thoughtlessly ducked in to avoid the crowds preparing to gather by the gallows. But the musty smell of books envelops her and warms her heart, and she straightens with a smile as she peers into the gloom.

“Seeker Pentaghast?” The shop is run by an elderly gentleman, a quiet man who always remembered her name. She supposed that it could be chalked up to her fame, but… there was something in the way his eyes gleamed. He appreciated people who loved books. And Cassandra truly loved books.

“Master Fontaine,” she smiles, bowing slightly. “You are looking well.”

“Ah, ever the sweet talker,” he laughs. “You are as radiant as ever. The Maker smiles upon you.” He hauls himself up from the stool behind the counter. “What brings you to this corner of the city today?”

She ducks her head slightly. “In truth, my feet had no purpose this day. I find myself at a loose end for a change.”

“Perhaps your heart yearns for something, hm?” He potters around the counter, reaching out to the shelves. “There might be something to soothe you here… only a small novella, but from one heart to another even the thinnest of threads can pull.”

Her hand trails over the lettering. _The Prince’s Heart_ , by Varric Tethras. Not a name she was familiar with, and the intrigue clearly shows on her face as Fontaine laughs again.

“Have you heard of him? His work tends to be a little more… rustic, as you might expect of a Marcher author.”

“I cannot say I have.”

“He is rather in vogue. He favours crime serials usually, but this is an interesting diversion.” His face tightens somewhat. “Perhaps the events of Kirkwall have had their effect.”

At the mention, she bites her lip. There was much unrest regarding the explosion and subsequent mage revolt. She avoided much of the gossip at court, but the people had questions that seemingly could not yet be answered. Reports came to the Divine daily, and Cassandra could only wonder at the woman’s intentions.

“Still,” offers Fontaine in a soft tone, “it is a warming story. Love in the time of peril, a strong warrior and her loyal shieldbearer…” His eyebrows raise slightly, almost a challenge. “They say it is based on truth, though nobody knows for sure.”

She smiles at the man. “You knew I would be interested the moment I stepped in here, Master Fontaine. You have yet to disappoint me. I will take it.”

Perhaps, she thinks, pulling out her coin purse, this Varric’s heart would manage to pull at her own.

* * *

_“Ryfwyn,” he murmurs, watching the woman reading in the firelight. She does not look up, so enthralled by the tale at her fingertips, and he remains silent, content to bask in her presence.  
_

_He was drawn to her, irrevocably bound to her – but here, at the edge of their destiny, he feared losing her more than ever. Tomorrow, the kingdom would decide on its new leader. The ruthless and clever Adara MacLean, daughter of one of the most powerful generals the land had ever known, or… him. Alastair Threndin, the lost heir, a man who had grown up without the weight of the throne on his shoulders, no comprehension of the tasks expected of him. Was that right? Could he lead a nation?  
_

_Ryfwyn Cowlean, daughter of the greatest Teyrn the country of Helledon had ever had, certainly thought so. And he believed in her.  
_

_More than that, much more than that, he loved her. There was no thought in his mind that was more certain. But they had a war to win, a war against unspeakable evil, and he did not wish to burden her with thoughts of a future that may never… that they might not…  
_

_“Alastair?” Her voice breaks through his thoughts, her eyes offering escape from the worries that plagued him. He blinks, before smiling – if it does not quite reach his eyes, he is sure she could not find fault regardless. She always said she adored his smile.  
_

_“Yes, my love?”  
_

_“You look troubled.” She smiles, a warm curve of tempting lips as she pulls herself from her chair. The skirts of her dress billow around her as she sashays across the small expanse to settle in his lap, arms coming to rest around his neck. “Might I distract you a while?”  
_

_His hands slide up her waist, pulling her in close. “Gladly,” he murmurs, his lips meeting hers in a passionate kiss -_

“Cassandra?”

The Seeker yelps, throwing the book in the air in a sheer panic. “Leliana!”

The red-haired woman chuckles, leaning against the doorframe of Cassandra’s room. “I _do_ hope I am not interrupting anything,” she teases.

She huffs, knowing full well that she is probably red in the face and ruffled. “You promised you would not do that anymore,” she grumbles.

“But you are positively adorable when you are caught!”

“And _you_ are positively annoying.” Straightening slightly, she closes the book carefully, stowing it away under her pillow. “Did you need something in particular, or are you content simply to be a nuisance?”

Leliana nods, sobering as her thoughts turn to the task at hand. “Most Holy has come to a decision regarding Kirkwall. She wishes to speak to you directly after evening prayers, but we shall be seeking the Hero and the Champion.”

Cassandra considers this. “In aid of what? They are hardly the most likely of allies – a Grey Warden and a fallen hero of a city that has seen more bloodshed than blessings.”

“That is yet to be revealed, though perhaps illumination will come tonight. I will be leaving shortly after our meeting to seek out my old friend in Ferelden. Your task might be more difficult, I fear – few of the Champion’s companions remain in Kirkwall, save for the storyteller.”

“The storyteller?”

“The one who wrote the whole affair down? Surely you have heard of the _Tale of the Champion_? It is the talk of the social scene – a glimpse into how such events came to unfold.” At Cassandra’s slight shrug, she frowns. “But I thought that was why you were reading _that_. The storyteller is Varric Tethras.”

_Oh._ Something pulls at her heart, the smallest thread. _Crime serialist, indeed._ She almost smiles, but for the seriousness of the situation. “It seems I owe Master Fontaine another visit,” she says quietly, “and much reading to do before I head to Kirkwall…”


End file.
